i press lotion into the skinof her back. we laugh and speaklike blue bloods, jaws clenched,reading from a book of fiction.reading aloud for the sun, forthe wind, for each other, suchfriends. such friendship to readand sun, to bronze and feel the cote d'azur on our flanksin waikiki.

the book speaks french, the bookspeaks english, and the words arepoetic, the words are absurd.the novel calls itself surreal,

but it is self consciously erotic like"the rose pulsates," "the skin isnut brown," "the lover parts theknees," "the smooth skin gives wayto fingers." out loud these wordsare spoken and we laugh bright sunnylaughter.

Laughing at the absurdity of the erotic, the protagonist taking manylovers and weeping, always weeping,for the sadness wells and pulsateslike her rose, like her chest, likethe surf lapping so near ourbare toes.

the air tastes especially salty. i smell like a coconut.she is so natural under the sun.

we laugh to ourselves that thetext is so hot we must swim.we tip toe into the cold waterrefreshed by the winds, theseuncommon winds, in hawaii.

slowly we enter. on tippy toesen pointe like dancers. so slowlymaking a quick dip agonizing, feelingthe sand give way to my feet. pullingin tummies and wishing the winds tocease and the water to turn bath like.

i am taller than she but she has theleg advantage. water laps her hips.stalemate. a count to three and awayto the bright orange windsock off shore.swimming our heads bob, out further tojust before.

"this is where i stop, this is wheremy fear of sharks begins. this is the point past which i will be eaten alive."

we turn back, she sprints. i wallowin the chop, having come from washingtondays before. from the winter. her nutbrown skin, my pale white dough broiling.i move my body through the saltiness, seeclarity when i open my eyes, feel my hairwave like weeds across my forehead.